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There is an appalling lack of Picasso Dramione in this fandom. Well, I’ve decided to do something about it 😤😤😤

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Post War — Draco x Hermione

cw // dark, mentions of self harm

Azkaban was normal. There was the illusion of fairer treatment, no dementors, time to walk around, meals with other inmates. But it was still damp and cold and life draining.

Azkaban was normal to Draco Malfoy until Hermione Granger was locked up in the cell next to his.

It seemed insane to him. Many sympathisers and unofficial death eaters had escaped imprisonment, yet here she was behind bars. The golden girl, war heroine.

When Draco asked the aurors, they never gave him an answer.

Men and women weren’t out of cells at the same time, so Draco only stole glances through the bars as he walked by.

She still looked fresh and strong, sitting prim in her cell like she was still sitting in class. Draco knew time would corrode the straightness of her spine, the brightness in her eyes. She never looked at him or anyone as they passed. His skin always prickled.

It was so unfair. It couldn’t be real. Still, he tried to pry information out of the aurors. They exchanged glances and kept moving, not a word to him.

The dementors were gone, but the effects of years on his mind in a place like this weren’t pretty.

Was she real?

The moment the aurors had dragged her past his cell and he heard the lock, something gritty and dirty had burrowed under his skin. When he thought about her presence for too long, he couldn’t breathe right or eat.

Was she real?

Was she a manifestation of his permanent guilt like the grime under his fingernails? He scrubbed and washed, cleaner than most prisoners who’d given up on presenting themselves, yet the dirt stuck. Sometimes he thought he could feel it in his nail beds, poisoning the roots. And sometimes when he turned his hands, he thought he could see it. The mixture of oozing black from dark magic and blood that he’d scrubbed from the drawing room floor. Mudblood.

The scratching was bad again. They wrapped up his left arm and cut his nails to the nubs. He could still feel the dirt.

Was she real?

He woke up one night to hear singing. His first thought was sirens, until he recognised the gravel voice. He crawled across his cell to the sea side wall and leaned his head back. The singing was terrible. And sad.

When he looked out, he saw her arm dangling out through the bars and it looked very real. Cold, purple at the fingertips.

“Granger?” His voice was as rough as the waves below them.

The singing stopped and her thin arm receded.

It didn’t matter who he asked, no one had heard the singing.

He realised he’d stopped eating. He was shaking now, his gloved hand working desperately at his arm guard.

He took his time walking aimlessly.

Maybe his feet took him here because he was thinking of her, though he often thought of her. He didn’t realise where he was until he saw the auror stationed in their corridor, leaving through the door at the other end.

At first, Draco kept walking. He was glad not to walk past the auror, he had hard eyes and a harsher hand.

Then he heard feverish mumbling and his heart skipped a beat. He turned slowly, back towards his cell, where the mumbling echoed from. He took careful steps forward, lowering himself to sit in front of her cell.

Granger had a book and a notepad, even a quill and ink. That couldn’t be real. He wasn’t allowed quills.

She must have noticed him, waving the feather around, “I’m not on watch. I’m allowed sharp objects.”

Draco pulled his sleeve lower over the guard he had to wear now the scratches were healed, hot with humiliation.

She chose that moment to look up, impassioned to see him. “You were my inspiration, you know.”

She wasn’t real. Hermione Granger could never go to Azkaban.

“You got off scot free, could’ve lived a cushy life with your mum because she saved Harry, saved him for you.” She sidled over and slid down the bars to sit next to him, her eyes aflame. “But you didn’t. You did the right thing.”

Wrong. She wasn’t real. He’d never done a good thing in his life.

“Mind you, right isn’t always good. He was your father.”

Draco couldn’t move or breathe.

“I don’t think you feel guilty either. You’re not haunted like the others here, mulling over what they regret. But you’re different. Like me. We chose to be here.”

“You’re not,” he said, resisting the urge to scratch. The crawling under his guard. “I’m pretty fucked up.”

“You don’t know me, Malfoy. I’ve always been willing to go too far.” Her eyes softened. “So thank you. Or I wouldn’t have had the courage to do the right thing either.”

He licked his dry lips, though his tongue was sand paper. “What did you do?”

Granger’s eyes looked past him, lost in a memory neither fond nor regretful. More like cataloguing many, many items.

“What did you do?” He croaked.

What was he asking? She wasn’t real. She wasn’t like him. She wouldn’t go to Azkaban.

Her lips curled into a smile, “Justice.”

The siren singing returned that night, her bony little arm dangling out her bars.

“Granger.”

Quiet. Then, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you again.”

He felt calmer now he knew he wasn’t crazy. He wished she hadn’t put him through that manic episode. “Why didn’t you talk to me sooner?”

“I was scared of being disappointed. I didn’t know if you’d still hate my blood.”

“I cleaned your blood. It looked like mine.”

“I know.”

He jammed his shoulder between the bars, reaching as far as he could. “Granger.”

Her arm reappeared through the closest gap, fingers only coming far enough to rest on top of his.

Her touch ran through him.

“I do have one regret.” There was a smile in her voice.

“What?”

“We should’ve done this together. It was impressive what you achieved in a week, but I wasn’t caught for years.”

“Actually...”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking about the death eaters in Azkaban.”

“So have I.”

“The aurors wouldn’t stop us.”

“I know.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

FIN.

Was she real?

[victoriaserum]

Life with Draco // Step-siblings, Muggle AU

Chapter 3

Granger is quite literally about to become his sister.

Step-sister.

Not incestual, not illegal, still weird.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34694086/chapters/90279571

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Chapter three ✨tomorrow...✨

Chapters 1 and 2 live now:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34694086/chapters/86380075

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And they spent the next few months sleeping . Good for them .

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“ He ‘ s just a boy . “

Even though he was sixteen , Narcissa saw her sweet eleven year old baby there on the floor , crying for his mummy .

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My name is LunaP and I’m addicted to Dramione Christmas fluff 😹

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“ She knew exactly what she was doing by standing in view of the doorway . She was nowhere near the sink , but was handling his mother ‘ s wedding china him and Astoria had been given as a wedding gift with such delicacy as she cleaned it . She looked pristine , delisted dripping with sweat from the hot stove top of the food she was cooking . Like a brand new bottle of cola , dripping with condensation . She turned around , Astoria now preoccupied with speaking to one of the part planners from her spot on his lap , a devilish grin spreading across her pretty face, showcasing the gap in her mouth . “ Do you need anything , Mr Malfoy ? “ Her words echoed through his ears , her voice creating a simple ring in the back of his mind . He didn ‘t even have time to notice the wink she tossed at him , only now coming to terms with the fact that he was squeezing the hell out of Astoria ‘s side when she slapped at his shoulder . Hermione Granger knew what she was doing. She was calculating , she was cunning , and bloody hell , she should’ve been sorted into Slytherin with him . “

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How Deep is your Love (dramione)

// slight nsfw

The first time Hermione stays over at Draco’s flat, it’s a cold autumn morning.

Her germaphobe boyfriend made them shower after sex last night, which she enjoyed more than she’ll admit after all she complained. It means they went to sleep clean and warm and she still smells like his soap.

She’d never felt happier wrapped up in his arms and expensive duvet, but now she’s woken up alone.

No Draco.

Just the smell of his soap.

At first she felt disappointed, but the longer Draco doesn’t come back, the more her mind jumps to conclusions.

At first she felt disappointed, but the longer Draco doesn’t come back, the more her mind jumps to conclusions.

Things were pretty easy between them… they weren’t at a point where they said “I love you”… but they weren’t casual… right?

Draco was very cuddly. He loved to cuddle. Why wouldn’t he be here right now cuddling Hermione in his big, stupid bed?

She has half a mind to gather up her clothes and go when she hears the shower burst to life.

Ah.

Her germaphobe boyfriend.

She smiles to herself, feeling silly now that she has no doubt he had been brushing his teeth and flossing as she knew his morning routine.

The little things bother her more with Draco, she suspects because if they become more serious they’ll be up against bigger issues.

His family. Hers. Ron won’t be happy. She can make Harry deal with it, he’s no problem.

Ginny and Pansy are at least already very supportive.

But she doesn’t bring this up with Draco, let’s the smaller things get to her. Looking for the first sign that he doesn’t want to invest into this relationship so she can run away with minimal damage to her heart.

It also means the little things mean more to her.

She’s never heard Draco sing before, and it starts so quiet she thinks she’s imagining it, but he’s singing How Deep is Your Love by the Bee Gees and her heart soars a little.

She’d played it for him after their last date while drinking wine in her apartment. He had held her close to him while her head was on his shoulder and they danced around, laughing each time their knees bumped, and she thought this is our song.

She didn’t tell him that.

But she dared to hope he felt it too.

He must have, he knows every single lyric.

She dozes off to the tenor of his voice, too happy and warm to stay conscious, until the bed shifts and her eyes jump open.

Draco is back and under the covers, half lying on top of her as he presses his face between her neck and shoulder. He hums as he slips his hand under her shirt to hold her side, his thumb brushing the side of her breast. “You smell like me.”

Her arms wrap around his back and he presses himself impossibly closer. Draco loves cuddles. Though his mouth is less innocent.

He starts at her collar bone, light presses of his lips that work their way up her neck. He sits up then so he has a free hand to push back the hair on her neck and suck below her ear. Hermione makes a happy noise that turns into a soft moan when drags her earlobe with his teeth.

She’s sleepy yet buzzing with his touch until she sees him aiming for her lips through her half-lidded eyes. She holds her breath, pursing her lips and he stops at the last second so she can feel his lips move against hers when he asks, “What’s wrong?”

She turns her head away so she can speak without breathing into his face. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“Fine.” He kisses her cheek then along her jaw which feels wonderful but her face scrunches up at the disappointment in his tone. He seems to catch on, smiling against her jaw. “Oh, you thought I’d care?”

“It’s something you usually care about.”

He pulls back to look her in the eyes as he deadpans, “Darling, I’d kiss you even if you were covered in troll bogies.”

She narrows her eyes. “I told you that story in confidence.”

She only gets a glimpse of his grin before he kisses her full on the mouth. No hesitation. No disgust.

Her germaphobe boyfriend is kissing her despite morning breath and not even joining him for a second shower. She wraps her arms around his neck and he deepens the kiss with tongue, her heart soaring a little higher.

He doesn’t care because he cares about her more and it’s such a little thing, but every little thing together feels like a big thing. Gives her a little more hope that they could be something.

She nearly blurts “I love you,” but her Gryffindor courage evades her today.

It’s not until he connects her to his floo, learns how to braid hair, clears out a drawer for her belongings, slowly earns Crook’s approval, learns how to cook her favourite meal(chilli con carne), then decided that’s his favourite meal, buys groceries together, practically living together that she finally says, “I love you.”

He’s working on her second Dutch braid while she sits between his legs, hand extended for her hair tie. He’s silent for so long she thinks she’s broken him until he releases a devastated sigh of relief. He can’t stop saying “I love you” over and over again as hugs her from behind and peppers kisses all over her face. She’s laughs and tries to catch his lips.

Once they’ve finally calmed down, Draco grumbles about having to redo the braid he’d worked so hard on.

“So,” Hermione says, still tentative, “this is serious?”

Draco snorts. “I’ve been trying to show you it’s serious for months.”

He coils her braids into a bun at the nape of her neck and kisses her below her ear. “Okay, now get in the shower.”

Hermione is pulled into the shower with him, though she enjoys it more than she’ll ever let on, she doesn’t complain this time.

She loves her germaphobe boyfriend.

Fin.

[victoriaserum]

Hypothetical Heart

“What if hypothetically—“

“You can’t do a hypothetical with that form of magic,” Draco argues immediately, and he can’t help the smile that curves his lips when Granger scowls at him. 

She has possibly the most adorable scowl he’s ever seen. Her nose scrunches up like a rabbit sniffing in distaste, and her mouth purses, sour like a lemon, though he thinks she might taste sweet. He has to look away when she directs her fiery-brown eyes at him so she doesn’t notice the flush creeping up his neck.

“Well,” she says, as they enter the empty lift to head back down to the Unspeakable Department. “According to the First Law of the Fundamental Laws of Magic, if a witch or wizard attempts to disrupt the balance of magic at its most basic level, it will become corrupted and have devastating consequences.” 

“Such as?”

”Such as,” she says, glaring at him in that way he thinks is reserved specifically for him. He’s not sure why he relishes it so much. Her attention, so exasperated as she regards him, is the best part of his day. “Have you ever read ‘The Warlock’s Hairy Heart’?”

“Remind me.”

Keep reading

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A crash, and then the sound of wailing hits her ears. Panic fills her quickly. Her baby is in trouble. She grabs her wand and rushes to the source of the noise. She on guard, cautious from years of having to protect those she's loves.

Her shoulders sag with relief when she enters the room. Regulus Malfoy sat on the floor, his knees curled into his body, high-pitched sobs coming from his mouth. A big red gash just below his knee, peeks out from a tear in his pants. Glass scattered on the floor beside him.

Hermione kneels before him with a worried look on her face. She pulls his arms away delicately. She's desperate to hug him but she knows she has to heal his cut first. Slowly, she peels the cloth away from the blood, careful not to touch the wound. "Oh baby are you okay?" Hermione asks.

"I- I'm sor-sorry mama," her son hiccups in response. "I wa-was playing with Mim-mmsy and I ran into the flowers daddy got you," he says, a giant pout on his face. More tears fall from his eyes.

"Sweetheart... Reggie, it's okay. What I care about is you being safe. Daddy can always get Mommy more flowers. But he can't get me another you," she boops his nose.

His hands rub together shyly, "Okay...". She moves her head back to his injury, with a wave of her wand, the blood and glass are gone. She inspects it closer, it is not as deep as she originally thought. It will barely leave a scar.

A fast healing spell and all is fixed. She presses a kiss to the little pink line that has formed there, "A magic kiss! See, now you're all better!"

"Will your kiss really make it better?"

"Let me tell you something. Back when I was younger, waaaaay before I had you, I had plenty of scars."

"Why?" he pouted again.

"That's no worries baby. Do you know what helped me with those scars?"

"What?!" Reggie asked in excitement.

"Your father. He came along, swept me off my feet, and with his magic kisses, I got better."

She gave another peck to his scar, and then one to his forehead. "These kisses are filled with love, and there is no better medicine than love." "I gave him kisses in return, and when we were both full of so much love, we made you."

His eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to understand what his mother was telling him.

"Sometimes I still feel bad. Your father has saved me before, and he does it time and time again. Now, you can too. Just like I healed you, you can heal me. You have so much magic in you. Magic kisses."

She wasn't sure the little Malfoy knew what she was telling him. She hoped he, at the very least, knew that he would be always be okay as long as he had his family.

Fin.

▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎

short and sweet <3 I wrote this in response to a prompt by @dramioneprompts on twitter.

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Happy New Year tumblr! 🥳

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A Gift for Draco Malfoy (art)

A Gift for Draco Malfoy (0 words) by jaxxinabox Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: D/Hr Advent 2021, dramione - Freeform, Naughty List, longest night, Spanking, Light Bondage, NSFW, NSFW Fanart, Fanart Summary:

Hermione has found herself in a bit of a bind, and Draco couldn’t be any happier.

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Merry Christmas or happy holidays ❤️🎄❄️

I made this for a one-shot I wrote, but didn’t finish.

I think this works without the text anyways, but for context and a spoiler, read under the cut (if I can make one?)

Draco has yet to apologise for his past actions to Hermione, despite having been her potions partner through all of first semester in their 8th year. On Christmas Eve, he goes to her parent’s house and finally gives her an apology. This is the moment right after that.

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Being expanded into a one-shot soon...

Draco is the prodigal son of Lucius Malfoy who only returns home once his father dies and the estate passes to him. Used to living like a dandy in the city, taking care of his mother and living in Wiltshire is not of much interest to him.

Until he meets the young girl from next door.

There is a quiet piece of woods between the back of their land. It is cool and quiet and the sun shines through the trees like a kaleidoscope.

The first time Draco sees Hermione, her shoes and stockings hang from a tree while she lies on the mossy ground. Her skirt is gathered all the way up to her creamy thighs.

It’s an image he can never forget and not for lack of trying.

Her embarrassment at being caught in such a compromised state makes her haughty and she admonishes him as if he weren’t a decade older than her.

She is the only interesting creature in the whole of Wiltshire.

When Draco needs a break from Narcissa and his huge looming house, he sits in the woods on a rock where the sun breaks clean through the trees and shines on his face while he waits. No more than five minutes will pass before Hermione wanders down.

She is dressed suitably and her hair is pinned properly, but Draco doesn’t forget the way her wavy curls had fanned around her head and clung to the moss.

Hermione entertains him by educating him on the wildlife and she asks a million questions about the city because she’s never seen it.

It is nothing like his idea of fun in London and yet he enjoys this time more than anything else.

It is unspoken but known that neither of them can tell anyone about their meeting. It’s improper. It would tarnish her virtue.

At society events they are polite, but they meet in their little woods by moonlight and chatter and laugh about her father who always dances too long and his mother who always falls asleep in a chair.

They dance into the wee hours of the night and pretend that he isn’t leaving after Narcissa passes and that there’s pressure for her to get married to a cousin because she’s her parents' only child and a girl.

By sun or moon, the real world doesn’t touch them in the little woods between their houses.

She wanders down from her house, looping between the trees quiet as a sylph in her white dress. The sky is grey and cloudy, no mosaic of sun shining through the rustling leaves.

Draco stands from his rock as she draws near and her smile turns confused as she takes in his expression.

There’s a look she’s unfamiliar with. It’s sad, but not friendly. Tired.

She’s never had to comfort a man and they strictly do not have serious conversations. They secretly go horse riding and dip their toes in the creek. She cannot find the words to say as she stands in front of him now.

She doesn’t have to when he lifts his hand near her face and she closes her eyes. One by one, he slides her hair pins out until her hair drops down her back. This is the most intimate thing he has ever done as they rarely touch.

She feels him behind her and two strong arms cradle her shoulders, a bony chin rests on top of her head. She doesn’t know what this means or why he looks so affected, but being young and hopeful she takes courage to make a leap.

“Draco,” she calls him, not Mr Malfoy or sir, “I can’t pretend our meetings have meant nothing. I feel for you and I believe you feel for me, too.” She spins around to face him, hands drawn up against his chest. “Let us no longer play this facade of acquaintances. Court me. Proper. In public. Our union would be agreeable and respected, I don’t know why we wait.”

He considers her with his eyes for the longest time before he shakes his head. “I don’t plan on marrying, not now or soon, possibly ever.”

“Then we won’t marry.”

“You have to marry.” His face remains stern, giving nothing away as he pushes her hair behind her ear.

“If you asked me to, I wouldn’t.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

She furrows her brows, not really following the conversation. He doesn’t dispute his feelings for her, but also doesn’t want to keep her. It is perplexing.

“What will you do if you don’t marry? Live in that big house alone, forever?”

“I keep my freedom. I want to stay in the city and travel and never take root. I hate it here.”

Somehow rejecting Wiltshire is the same as rejecting her. She can’t articulate how, but it is. It is a part of her and he hates it.

He sighs as she can’t keep the devastation off her face, it is simultaneously irritating and comforting the way he continues to stroke her hair. He’s unraveled it and doesn’t know how to put it back; her heart more than anything.

But he feels for her. She knows it. If she could just wipe that stupid look from his eye, bridge the gulf between them even when they’ve never been closer physically.

It is foolish and she is young and she tips her chin forward, lips parted and blushing all the way to her toes. It is the very thing they have tried not to do since meeting in secret but damn it all, she’d give herself to him if it’d make him change his mind.

He steps back from her entirely.

Her face flashes red as she hangs her head.

“We’ve not done anything wrong, besides meeting alone. Let’s not spoil it.”

He’s made a mistake. A grand and cruel mistake. He never meant for it to go this far. He always knew he would leave and she would stay. He assumed too much by expecting her to understand that. She’s barely an adult at 19.

There is no way he can comfort her without giving her false hope, though he fights every part of him that wants to hold her in his arms.

He turns home, but stops after a step. “I’ve had the honour of knowing your mind and hearing you speak freely, but please, guard your heart. I would hate to see you taken advantage of.”

“By who?” She’s indignant. “Men like you?”

“Yes.”

She grabs his hand and he expects her to turn him around, slap him or kiss him, either would be in her nature.

Instead she’s snatching back her pins and storming away with a huff. Not appreciating his self deprecation and no doubt expecting to fight again tomorrow.

She drops a pin with a periwinkle gem and he pockets it.

A parting momento.

This morning Narcissa passed, tomorrow he will go. Hermione Granger will marry a fine man and forget all about him. He will live in London and dream of his Wiltshire girl.

Fin.

(Inspired by Onegin.)

[victoriaserum]

Hermione had never looked closely at Draco Malfoy.

Had never realised his perfect pale skin was marked with freckles.

Lots of them.

Her favourite on his jaw that lifts when he smiles.

She had to look away on multiple occasions when he rolled his sleeves.

She wasn’t, she was counting his freckles.

She wasn’t, she was counting his freckles.

The sight was just a bonus.

They weren’t huge, but they were dark. And everywhere. And she had never realised.

Not until they were co-workers at the Ministry.

It made sense, they weren’t friends at school so why would she notice? Even then, her current fixation was inappropriate for just friends.

After sunny weekends, she sometimes wondered if she were imagining more.

It only took 3 drinks for her to ask.

Draco leaned in closer to hear her in the pub, ‘Sorry?’

‘I said, you had one freckle above the arch of your left eyebrow and now there’s two.’

His perplexed expression turned into laughter. ‘Yeah, I guess. I freckle easily. Who’s counting?’

‘I am,’ she said without thinking.

He rested his head in his hand, eyes at her level in disbelief. ‘You are?’

‘You have 13 on your forearm.’

His lips parted. ‘Really?’ His tone was hushed, but she heard him. His eyes were calculating something on her face.

She’d revealed too much, but the way he looked at her spurred her on.

She unbuttoned his sleeve and gently rolled it up as he watched silently.

He allowed her to hold his hand as her fingers marched over his arm.

13 accounted for, she met his gaze to the same look.

They were much closer now from her learning forward to investigate all around his arm. The alcohol stopped her from feeling embarrassed.

‘You have so many freckles and I have none. It’s like you’ve taken them all for me.’

‘Not true.’ He didn’t hesitate to reply.

She blinked as he licked his lips. Debating for a second before his hand reached under her hair, to a spot on the back of her neck.

He pressed one finger against her skin. ‘You have one here.’

She could barely breathe.

‘Wait.’ His face scrunched. He moved his hand further around to the same spot on the other side. ‘I’m facing you so it’s here.’

She felt heat surge up her neck and her nerves sparked at the one spot of pressure from his finger.

He couldn’t see her freckle.

He had just known.

He’d noticed her, too.

Fin.